


Non, je ne regrette rien.

by lokiloo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drag Queens, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiloo/pseuds/lokiloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur likes to sing at Drag clubs, Eames is a fighter. They love eachother, and everything else be damned. (originally written for Kink Meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non, je ne regrette rien.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the kink meme prompt of Arthur is Drag and Eames as his Fighter/boxer boyfriend.

Arthur is beautiful.

It’s not the first adjective that usually comes to mind, for most people. Arthur; suit-clad, uptight, quick eyed and barbed tongued. Hair slicked back, tie always perfect and waistcoat fit to a T, he’s handsome, intimidating, dangerous- never beautiful.

But they never see him like this, Eames supposes.

“My show tonight, its theme is ‘Paris Nightlife,’- Angela said to go more ‘natural’, but do you really think that’s wise? I mean, glitz and glam are the whole point.”

Arthur is wearing his bustier and stockings, already stuffing his chest and capping his head in preparation for the wig he’ll wear. His black, slim heels are sitting on the couch, jewelry and makeup scattered along the coffee table. Pacing around the room, he looks every bit the stressed, drama-loving drag queen his is.

“Arthur,” Eames says from his spot on the recliner. “I’m going to have to side with Angela. You’re naturally gorgeous- cheekbones and everything, darling. Just wear a bit of makeup, wrap yourself in that nice vintage you have- the black one with the beading, not the blue lace- and go blow their minds.”

Arthur huffs and stomps away to the bedroom, probably to sit on the bed and pout.

Eames, long use to this, minds his sore midsection (Fucking Saito, throwing punches like that- lucky the ref got him, Eames was ready to knock the blighter out, friend or not), and makes his way to the bedroom.

True enough, Arthur’s pouting.

“What’s wrong, love? What’s really wrong, I mean- the show is obviously the least of your concern if you’re stressing over the wardrobe of all things.” Arthur sighs dramatically, but his face softens at the end.

“…You said you were bringing your friends tonight, right?” Arthur asks softly. Eames chuckles slightly and sits on the bed next to him.

“Yes, I invited a couple of the fighters and my coach- I don’t know if they’ll show up, really.”

Arthur fidgeted in his spot, fiddling with the laces on his corset.“You told them what kind of show it is, right? Did you tell them I was performing.”

“I told them it was a drag show, yes, but not that you’re in it.” Eames frowns. “You said you wanted it to be a surprise.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I do- did. Ah, fuck.” He rubs his bare face with a hand, the other placed under his elbow in support. “I wanted it to be a surprise. But- but I’m worried…” Eames places a hand on his boyfriend’s bare shoulder.

“Of what darling? Them not excepting you? Please, they already know I’m gay, you met Cobb and Yusuf before, they loved you-“

“But that can change!” Arthur bursts. “Being gay is one thing, yeah fine, whatever- but being a drag queen? Completely different! Do you know how many people have stopped talking to me once they found out? Good friends, Eames, friends I thought in terms of forever, best friends-“ Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t want that for you. For you to bring these guys in, have them leave and never talk to you again once they find out you’re dating the fag in a dress.”

This is a sore spot, Eames thinks faintly. This has been haunting him for years.

“Arthur,” Eames says, slightly thick with emotion. “Arthur, come here Darling.” He does, right into Eames’ arms, and god does he not want to leave the house anymore- just sit here a cuddle with the love of his life.

“Arthur, if this happened, if you went up there and they made fun of you, or were disgusted- I wouldn’t want to be friends with them. I wouldn’t, you know why?” He brings Arthur’s face close to his, resting their foreheads together.

“Because you are the only thing in that bar I care about. Everyone else can go fuck themselves; as long as you’re up there singing in your dresses and heels, as long as you’re happy- I am.”

He feels and few tears drop onto him shirt, and then Arthur punches him hard.

“What have I told you about making me cry before a show.” Arthur half sobs, half laughs. Wiping his eyes, he stalks to the living room. “You are so lucky I wasn’t wearing my makeup- come here and help me put on my eyelashes!”

Crises adverted, Eames smirks though the pain. Jesus Christ, that hurt. Maybe Arthur should consider boxing like he does- certainly has the hook for it.

 

Arthur has to be there early to help set up, so Eames drops him off at the side entrance and parks in front. He wait for maybe twenty minutes, chatting up some of the regulars and bumming a cig off of Ariadne. A women, yes, but ever since she cut her hair and started wrapping her chest, she’s become quite the little ‘showgirl’. Since everyone at the bar knows she’s a girl, they tend to only sick her on the new comers, and straight men who come in with girlfriends every once in a while.

Cobb, Yusuf and Robert come in not soon after. They head over to the table, and Eames grins.

“Gentlemen, what a pleasure. Cobb, I thought you said Mal was coming?”

“She is.” The blond man sighs. “She’s getting Pippa out of the car.”

Eames stares. “Your wife brought your nine year old daughter to a queen club.”

“She tired to bring James as well, but he was still fussy so she left him at her mothers.”

The men look as Mal and her daughter enter the bar, stunningly dressed as though this were a night at the opera. They’re stopped briefly at the door (children aren’t generally allowed in clubs, yes), but soon make their over.

“Eames, good to see you. This is Philipa- say hello, cheri.”

“Bonjour, Messier Eames.”

The next half-hour is spent with Eames fawning over the lovely Miss Pippa, Mal laughing all the way. Yusuf starts a philosophical debate with one of the waiters (Eames had to correct him the first time- yes Yusuf, he’s in drag), Cobb taking the time to drink without worry of driving home or the wife not knowing, and later everyone takes sadistic pleasure on sticking Ariadne on Robert (if he is not questioning his sexuality by the end of the night she is losing her touch).

And Eames admits, he’s not sure if they’re laughing with their flamboyant waiter, or at him.

-But then the show starts, and everything fades into the background for Eames. Because this is Arthur, and nothing comes close,

 

The curtain opens to the crescendo or horns, lights dimming in time to fade in the main spotlight. Back turned, the dark silhouette can be seen turning.

Stunning. No matter what outfit, what wig or makeup or even music Arthur chooses, he’s always the most beautiful creature in the room. Eames is biased, yes, but judging by the gasps around him he’s not too far off the mark.

Black dress with pale peach cutouts underneath, almost like they were Arthur’s real skin, shown risqué. Long gloves, with gold bracelets. A black wig, style in a 20’s wave bob, framing Arthur’s face like waterfall. Smokey eyes look up, mouth painted red, an enchanting expression on his face.

He’d never pass for a real woman. His shoulders too broad, chest and arms too strong. He’s too tall, too solid.

-But on that stage, standing like that, Eames can’t see anything that doesn’t make him the most beautiful being in the world, female or otherwise.

He begins to sing, soft, rich tenor sweeping out like smoke, the French syllables echoing through the packed club. Words of no regrets, of love and acceptance and new beginnings, and Eames’ heart clenches like a chokehold.

He hears Mal murmur to Pippa and Cobb, hears Yusuf ask the Waitress something, hears Robert moan and Ariadne does something that is most likely to get her caught for indecent behavior.

“That’s Arthur.” Eames states aloud.

“That’s my boyfriend.” He says a beat later.

He doesn’t look to see the others’ expressions, doesn’t try.

His eyes are fixed on Arthur.

They always have been.


End file.
